


Detention

by DownpourOfFeels



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Darkened classrooms, Holding Hands, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Near kiss, Office Sex, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and John watson - Freeform, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top John, student teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownpourOfFeels/pseuds/DownpourOfFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(DISCONTINUED FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE. SORRY)<br/>While he waits to join the army and become a military doctor, John works part time as a lecturer teaching basic first aid courses at Oxford university.<br/>Sherlock Holmes happens to be one of his students, and while he finds the rest of his professors frightfully dull. There's something about John Watson that he just can't...put his finger on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just...John then

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of the first fics that I wrote and never actually posted. However, I was looking through it and since I'm stuck in complete writers block for my other two I thought why not? I've improved it a lot more since the first draft and will be continuing to do so as time goes on as I have more ideas for plot and character development. It's a bit adventurous but I'm sure you'll have read weirder. I've tried not to make this too wrong. John would be 26 and Sherlock would be 21. Hope you enjoy!

John pushed up from his chair, pressing his sweaty palms flat against the dark oak of the desk as he stood up and addresed the class.  
   
"Right so, thanks everyone. That will be all for today."  
  
The room was placidly dim, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the bay windows of the study room, the light tinting the students faces with a lucent shade of apricot orange as they filed out, carrying the hustling noise and playful atmosphere with them.

After a moment John breathed out a small sigh of relief and started collecting up his things. Only suddenly there was a small cough, instinatively causing him to look up.

Sherlock was hovering behind his desk, fringe over his eyes, self-consciously nudging at his chair with his foot.

John sighed quietly to himself. Why was the boy hanging behind again? He didn't mind answering his questions, but it was starting to get slightly...annoying.  
  
"Sir?" Sherlock's voice was quiet, timid and if John didn't know him better, he’d even say he sounded slightly nervous.  
  
The older man straightened himself out a little and looked towards Sherlock, studying him carefully. Despite his persistent question asking, the peculiar boy was certainly still his favourite student in the class, the smartest too, by far. But the other boys didn't like him, even in his short hour courses he’d noticed that. Whenever Sherlock started to speak they would often tell him to shut it. For a second John wondered if that was why he always stayed behind to talk to him, but on second thoughts...he doubted it, he was hardly very interesting  
  
"Um, you don't have to keep calling me sir." John replied, stifling a small polite laugh. "I'm not strictly a professor or anything.”  
  
"Oh," Sherlock paused, his eyes finding the floor. "Just...?"

“John.”

“Just John then.” Sherlock breathed, the word rolling around his mouth as he processed it. He spoke slowly, carefully, as if it was the most interesting thing he’d learnt all day. 

"Uh...yeah” John replied, his fingers suddenly reaching down to fiddle with the corners of his shirt. This felt... weird. He wasn't on first term names with any of his other students.

There was a pause, and John suddenly became very aware of the awkward silence that was falling over them.

"So um..." He flashed a quick smile, trying to buy himself more time to think of something to say.  
  
Sherlock moved forward and John felt the beginnings of small blush start to creep in from the center of his cheeks. He coughed, his brain kicking back into action as he tried to change the subject.  
  
"Was there anything you'd like to ask me?" He asked quickly, surprised at himself. _Of course that had been the right thing to say. Why was he at a sudden loss for words?_

He brought one of his hands to the side of his face and pretended to scratch his cheek, but really it was an attempt to hide it. Why  _an earth was he blushing?_  
  
"Yes. Why does Dopamine build up in the brain when you excessively take Cocaine over a 24 period?” Sherlock asked, his voice calm and low, his usual confidence seeming to return as he spoke.  
  
John moved back an inch, slightly startled. Out of all the weird questions Sherlock had come out with before, not one of them had been about drugs. Drugs weren’t really related to the course in any way.

  _An addict?_

John eyed him up slowly. Back straight, Sherlock was tall and lean with piercing green eyes, or were they blue? In the light John couldn't tell. His cheeks were usually pale, but in this moment the sun happened to be dancing elegantly on the smooth edge of his cheekbones, letting them glow a tanned orange. And _boy_ , those cheekbones really were something. The appearance of them ever changing depending on the setting. They could be razor sharp, or deliciously smooth, but whatever the lighting was the curves always seemed to be in exactly the right places. John’s eyes trailed down from Sherlock’s face to his clothes. He was wearing his usual things, slick black trousers and a dangerously tight fitting white shirt, which was mostly concealed underneath a black suit jacket. He always looked smart. This was Oxford, one of the best universities in Britain, but even so he did look just slightly out of place. His hair was long black and curly, falling mercifully over his ears and forehead. It was the only thing that was boyish about him really. Everything else was...well there was no denying he was handsome. John bit his lip, hard. Suddenly stumbling from his thoughts. His stomach knotting, horrified, as he realised he was staring a bit too intently into Sherlock's eyes and sti hadn't even answered his question. 

"Um, er." John stuttered slightly, his brain whirling as he struggled to even remember what Sherlock had asked. "Sorry,” He said at last. “That's not really my area I'm afraid.”  
  
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, eyes blank, before confusion and disappointment crossed his face. He lowered his head slightly, eyes darting towards the floor.  
  
John knew, especially in his position as a teacher that he shouldn't ask such a personal question, but suddenly he found the urge of curiosity was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help himself. The words slipped out before he even had time to think.  
  
"You don't, um, do drugs? Do you Sherlock?" He stuttered slightly when he said Sherlock’s name and cursed himself internally for it.

"No sir." Sherlock replied, his voice becoming low and deep. The words drawn from his mouth slowly, as if untrusting. John tried to get a glimpse of Sherlock’s face but his head was still tilted towards the floor.  
  
Another awkward silence fell over them and John regretted the question instantly. Noting also that Sherlock had addressed him as ‘Sir’ instead of using his name. He could almost kick himself under the table. He’d knocked down that small ounce of trust before it had even been built.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have asked, sorr-" 

"I don't." Sherlock interrupted, bringing his head up and meeting John's eyes sharply with his own.  
  
"Ah." John managed, looking away quickly. “Good.” There was another stiff pause between them. Sherlock shuffled before turning slowly as if to leave.  
  
"Wait.” John searched for something, _anything_ , to make this less awkward. When suddenly it occurred to him that he did in fact know the answer to the question.

  
"Actually!" The word fell out of his mouth a little too desperately, but he ignored his internal cringe and carried on, instead feeling relief when he saw Sherlock turn back.

"I think I remember something from med school that the Cocaine stops the Dopamine from being recycled back into the brain cells.”

John breathed a sigh of relief, content he had managed to say the entire thing without stuttering and amazed that he’d actually managed to remember it.

Sherlock’s face lit up. “Oh, that's what I thought.”

John couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Good, well I’ll see you next week.” He finished, turning away to begin collecting his things. He wasn't expecting Sherlock to say thank you, he never did. Instead he was just glad that the awkward encounter was over and he could finally go home.

As he ordered his papers he risked one final glance at Sherlock, who was picking up his bag and making his way towards the door. John smiled briefly and looked away again, bending down to pick up his coat.

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered. His voice so quiet and hushed that John wasn't entirely sure he didn’t imagine it.

John's head snapped back up in surprise, but all he saw was the smallest glimpse of the back of Sherlock’s head as he darted out of the room.

A quiet grin broke out on John’s face, and funnily enough, it was that same smile that seemed to follow him as he journeyed home that evening; escaping out onto his lips at several intervals. Although, to tell the truth, he wasn't quite sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I really feel this isn't up to my usual writing standard so I do apologise for that, but I hope you enjoyed it anyhow. I will be adding the next couple of chapters in the next few days hopefully, as they are already mostly drafted and just need updating.


	2. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John struggles to control the class and Sherlock can't help but defend him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, so here's the next chapter as promised. It's only been like four ish days, I'm getting better at this posting on time thing, aren't I? Enjoy!

John bit down on his lip nervously. One week had passed and now he found himself 15 minutes into his 11b class - the one with Sherlock. He would like to say he was completely uneffected by last week's encounter, but of course that was not the case.

Sherlock’s unforeseen thanks had crossed his mind several times, and although it was hard for him to admit, John found himself willing Sherlock would stay behind again so they could talk a bit more.

He paused mid-sentence and glanced at Sherlock, who was sat in the corner, hardly saying anything at all. John guessed he must be bored, and wasn't really surprised. A PowerPoint about how to address open wounds was incredibly basic stuff and more than a little dull. In fact it would not be illogical to assume that at least 90% of the students were only here so they could add another thing to their CV. The other boys appeared completely oblivious to Sherlock’s unusual silence, and perhaps presence; as they joked together at the far back of the room, chucking paper at one another and laughing as they pleased.

John found it hard not to be slightly ashamed for he could hardly control them. Which was odd because he’d always been a man with a natural sense of authority, but here it just didn’t seem right to try and assert it. He was 26, only a couple of years older than the students himself and only a part time lecturer. The boys didn't take him seriously, and he wasn’t exactly about to embarrass himself by trying to make them.

Not everyone was ignoring him though, a couple of students at the front and Sherlock, normally listened. In fact Sherlock never messed around, usually he sat straight, taking notes and hanging on John’s every word. Not today though, which was odd. Today he seemed...agitated, like the lesson wasn’t quite enough for him or something.

“Sir?!” One of the students shouted, bringing John crashing down from his thoughts.

“Um yes?” John replied, annoyed to be interrupted. The students were supposed to be taking notes, not shouting to him.

“So what do you do if you’ve got a cut penis?”

The lad smirked at John, looking him right in the eye and not showing the slightest display of discomfort or hesitation, considering the words he’d just said. As predicted the boys around him erupted with laughter, punching one another on the shoulders, the heroisms spinning from their lips.

“Right.” John gave a slight shake of head and sighed, humiliating himself by attempting to answer that was not currently on the agenda. And it didn’t get to him, really, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock look up at him. His eyes flickering repeatedly from the boys and then back to him, his pupils wide and pale in the dim grey light.

John felt his fists clench. _That_ got to him, Sherlock seeing him being made a fool of…although John didn’t quite know why. Without much thought he dropped eye contact from everyone, deciding it was best to ignore the comment and swiftly try and move on.

“So-”

“No please sir, I’m serious. Tell us.” The same student persisted with his taunts. John grinded his teeth in his mouth and decided that boy was definitely on the bottom of the favourite list.

“No, I really don’t think that would be the best idea.” John stated firmly, looking back up and making direct eye contact, trying to conceal any form of desperation from his eyes. The boy looked away and the class simultaneously broke out into a patronisingly disappointed “Ohhh”.

John breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the conversation was over, but-

"Well _sir_ can you jus-" The student began again, louder this time, until suddenly he was abruptly cut off.

"Don't Henry or I'll tell everyone whose girlfriend you slept with last night." It was Sherlock's voice, low and threatening, echoing across the room at just the right moment of silence.

John was grateful the attention was no longer on him as his mouth had slipped right open.

_Why was Sherlock defending him?_

He didn't need defense...well. He didn't want Sherlock to put himself in the firing line for him anyway, and clearly he was now, as the reaction from the boys was one of outrage. The shouted and swore, banging on the tables with their fists.

John coughed loudly, forcing himself to try and maintain some order.

"Okay that is enough!” He called out, raising his voice. “Please just, settle down."

Some of the students turned, slightly taken back  and to John’s relief the noise level slowly started to drop. John smiled, glad he’d managed to keep the shakiness out of his voice and successfully diverted the attention back to him. The boys were still shooting dirty looks of distaste in Sherlock’s direction, but they did that already, there was not much John could do.

"Okay…” John sighed. “Let's just, all move on shall we?"

The class went back to their usual murmurs, and John noted that Sherlock had retained himself back in his corner by the window.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the class John breathed his usual sigh of relief and began collecting his things. But while he was doing so he looked up, expecting to see Sherlock waiting as he normally did. However, he was not hanging back by his chair, instead all John saw was the flash of his hesitating face by the door, the expression on it utterly unreadable. John acted quickly, giving him a smile that was designed to say “It's okay, you can talk to me," but to his dismay Sherlock ignored his gesture, only hesitating once more before quickly darting out of the room.

John left shortly after, knowing he really had to get to the bottom of just _why_ he felt so disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not really sure about this fic at all, but it's easy to write and I can do it quickly so I think I'll continue. I hope the writing standard is slightly up on this chapter since I've had more sleep but you guys can be the judge of that. Now, I would like to say that things will get much more interesting in the new few chapters to come I promise. As I realise at the moment it's all quite dull, sorry. I just have to be realistic with building relationships or it all gets slightly odd for me. Anyway, I'm rambling but I hope you enjoyed reading this and I'll be updating the next chapter soon!


	3. A little chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes his evening class but he and Sherlock still end up having a bit of a chat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's been a little longer than I said but not too long! This chapter is a lot more interesting than the previous ones (I think) so I hope you enjoy it!

John smiled quietly to himself as he set out his things. It was a lovely evening, late summer, and the sunset shone beautifully through the bay window. The peachy light decorating the insides of the classroom with a delightful orange.

Today John felt content and fairly relaxed. It was his evening class, which meant he was teaching older adults not the reckless 21 year old's he was so used to. His audience were still bored none the less, but at least they were quiet, and more...polite.

“So with an open wound to the arm, you would lift it up and use cold water to try and stop the swelling?” One of the adults asked.

“That’s correct.” John replied, trying desperately to ensure his tone didn’t come across as patronising. He was pretty certain everyone in this room was either his age or older than him.

The man pushed his glasses up his nose and began noting something down. John clicked onto the next slide.

“So, that’s all there is on that and now we’re going to move on to arterial bleeding. Does anyone know what position to put a patient in when they have severe bleeding to the upper thigh?”

The class were silent. Normally they were quite keen to ask questions, but this one seemed to have everyone stunned. John was about to explain but before he  had a chance the silence was suddenly broken by a shout from the left.

“Sit them down?” One guy joked.

The man next to him laughed before joining in. “Give em a cuppa”

It was a joke. Obviously. But was impossible not to pick up the sarcastic smirk in the man’s tone.

John pursed his lips, trying to ignore the sick feeling settling in his stomach. Once again it seemed he was being laughed at.

He grimaced slightly, stretching his head up and trying to and think of a witty comeback. Yet, before he was physically able to reply, a strikingly low voice stole the words directly from his mouth.

“Wrong.”

 _Wait._ John recognised that voice, it would be impossible not to. He moved his head forward a fraction and squinted. Allowing his eyes to reveal that actually Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes was sat at the back, in his evening class where he shouldn’t be, and all the worse calling out and defending him again! John could think of nothing more humiliating. However he barely had time to process-

“Obviously it would be essential for you to lie the patient down with their legs up, if possible, to ensure remaining blood and therefore oxygen could get to the brain. Were you ever taught science?" Sherlock spat.

The adult looked round, taken back but still staring Sherlock down. He appeared half annoyed, half upset. John feared he was about to hit back, so he hastily decided to get the first word.

"Sherlock!?!" He hissed, "What the-" But he cut himself off. Annoyed as he was, he wasn't going to embarrass the boy in front of everyone.

John took a deep breath. He needed to change the subject.

"Anyway..." He continued loudly, coughing awkwardly as he gestured back to the PowerPoint. Praying everyone would take their focus from Sherlock and place it back on him.

Thankfully after a couple of seconds the heads turned, the man sat back and John blew a small sigh of relief.

He continued with the session, and it was minutes later before John dared to even peer at Sherlock. To his amusement he found that he had shrunk back into his seat and was slouched with his arms crossed, the pose quite closely resembling one of a five year old in a strop. If John wasn't so annoyed he would probably be laughing right now. It was ridiculously childish.

The rest of the session went quickly. John dared a few glances at Sherlock, who each time, looked away. He finished his final words and shut the PowerPoint off, smiling politely as he set everyone on their way. The general cluttered noise of people gathering their things and scraping their chairs briefly filling the room.

John stayed at his desk, staring through the moving crowd at Sherlock. He was definitely _not_ slipping away without talking to him. Not after his little display earlier. Sherlock caught his glance as he stood, but got the message and flopped back down again, crossing his arms.

John waited for everyone to leave the room before approaching Sherlock. The air now felt musky, for the sunset had finished and darkness had now begun fading across the room. It was almost silent now, the adults carrying all forms of noise with them. All that was left was the meek sound of John's footsteps and the flutter of Sherlock's breathing, which John noticed was becoming increasingly more ragged. He gulped, he had no idea what he was about to say but one thing was clear; an odd sort of tension had suddenly come about and John could almost feel it radiating between them both.

He reached where Sherlock was sat and stood awkwardly. It felt weird standing when Sherlock was sitting, but he decided that taking a chair next to him could come across as creepy. Especially in a darkened classroom, that could be viewed as slightly inappropriate.

"So, err," John coughed, struggling to untangle his words. "Why are you here Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms, his voice adopting a sarcastic tone. "I thought this class would be more _advanced_. I thought perhaps they would be smarter, that you’d be teaching things with a bit more depth because they’re older adults.” The words were spun quickly, shooting from his mouth like a machine gun on rapid fire. He huffed. “Clearly I was wrong."

"Oh.” John sighed, not entirely sure how to approach Sherlock's sudden outburst.

Sherlock tightened his arms, curling into himself before muttering. "I shouldn't have bothered coming. You’re not even pleased to see me." His tone quietened on the last sentence, as if he had said one thing too many.

John blinked, and before he had time to decode his thoughts, "I _am_ pleased to see you Sherlock." Slipped from his mouth.

"Oh," Sherlock whispered quietly.

John watched his posture relax slightly and he uncured his arms, placing them on his lap.

Any annoyance John had previously felt was slipping away fast.

_Oh fuck it._

He dropped himself down into the chair next to Sherlock. Towering over him had felt too threatening, and that was something he didn't want to be.

Sherlock didn’t say anything and John held the silence between them. After a surprisingly comfortable pause Sherlock whispered. “You were annoyed at me."

“Yes” John replied, realising his voice was no more than a whisper either.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely confused.

John tilted his head, didn’t Sherlock understand? He ran a hand through his hair slowly. “I uh, you don’t need to...defend me.”

“Defend you?”

John coughed, “Yeah, in class, when someone doesn’t…” He looked towards the ceiling, searching for the correct word. “Understand something.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped up from the ground. “I don't!” He protested.

“Hmm” John gave a slightly pained grin. He took his hand down from his hair and put it on his knee. The action brought his eyes to the attention of Sherlock's thigh which was next to his, just a couple of inches away. It was so small and lean in comparison to his toned, muscular one - he’d been working out recently in preparation for the army. John's eyes dropped down to rest of Sherlock's lower body. His legs were thin, tucked in close together, the insides of his knees touching. John gulped. The thought of running his hands down along Sherlock’s thighs to check if they were as frail as they looked would be a highly inappropriate one, but it didn't stop him from having it. He looked away quickly, slightly ashamed and suddenly starting to grow more and more anxious of where they were and what it looked like. He glanced towards the door, shuffling uncomfortably. Sherlock followed his gaze, turning his head until their eyes met quickly and John caved and looked away first.

“Um perhaps, you...better go” He declared.

Sherlock locked eyes with John properly this time, his pupils darting from side to side, searching...reading him.

John hastily decided he wasn’t a fan of that. He stood up quickly, shaking slightly. He couldn’t deny that Sherlock looked... _good_ , right now. His dark curls bouncing lightly off his forehead, the shadows cast across the room making his eyes dark, the pale light reflecting in his pupils right in the center. The way his chest was fluttering lightly in time with his breathing. It was all undeniably enticing.

_Oh god._

This was weird. Sherlock had to leave.

Thankfully, on que Sherlock jumped up, grabbing his satchel in the process. "Of course. I'll go" He said broadly, offering John a pleasant smile as he tucked in his chair.

_Thank god._

John whistled a silent sigh of relief. Sherlock was leaving and nothing wrong had happened. A smile broke out on his face as the tension drained from his body.

"Right well, I'll err see you next lesson." He stood up and smiled at Sherlock, his polite teacher smile, nothing more.

"You will." Sherlock replied, the tone of his voice swiftly becoming...rather charming. And before John knew what was happening Sherlock had his arm outstretched towards him.

Rather taken back to say the least, John shook it, lightly. It was a gentle touch, yet it affected the older man in a way he certainly wasn’t expecting. Sherlock's hand was so delightfully soft and warm. John could almost feel the warmth spread up through his arm and his chest. His heart began beating at double speed. His breath began to quicken. The handshake was still happening. They were _still_ holding hands. A small atomic bomb of panic went off inside him. Long and gentle handshakes weren’t something you usually did with your students, _god_ , he didn’t even know any of the other student’s names. Sherlock held his grasp, gently rubbing his thumb across John’s palm. Their eyes met and Sherlock licked his lips. Then John completely froze, dead solid, as Sherlock moved forward and tilted his head towards John’s ear. With his hand still clasped around John's, he pulled him in closer and began to whisper in the most low and if John wasn’t mistaken, _seductive_ tone.

“I don’t suppose you could run another class, for me, a sort of... _private_ tutoring.” Sherlock swallowed and pulled back, moving with the same tantalisingly slow speed as before, his breath brushing across John’s lips.

John was utterly still with shock. His brain temporarily offline, it seemed something inside of him did the talking for him.

“Okay.” He managed.

Sherlock moved back, and although the proximity was now gone, his dangerously deep tone continued. "Good. Thank you, John".

He swept out of the room without another word or a second glance, and John could only blink in disbelief as the mop of black curls disappeared from sight, leaving John stranded, confused and to his horror, slightly aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm not sure the character balance is very good at the moment but that's because I'm not entirely sure what I want in my head. Once I figure out the whole story line I'll probably come back and amend these first few chapters to match. Thanks again for reading! Please do comment your thoughts and suggestions.


	4. Opposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John overhears something he'd rather not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry it's taken me a while to update I've been busy! I'm still so unsure about this fic, to be honest I think it's awful but everyone else seems to be enjoying it so I guess I'll carry on. I hope you enjoy!

John took a nervous breath. Tuesday. He’d been waiting for this moment, more than a little anxiously. For in a couple of minutes time he would be setting eyes on the boy with the mop of curly black hair and piercing blue eyes.

 _Sherlock_.

John whispered the name under his breath, studying it, admiring it even. It was so unique and striking, he’d never heard of anyone else with that name and he doubted he ever would. Maybe his parents had known what an uncontrollably marvellous force the boy would turn out to be, how unusual, how brilliant. But, maybe they just wanted him to be like that, people do say you grow into your expectations.

John pondered on these thoughts as made his way across the university campus to the class. Surprisingly, so far he’d managed to tame the butterflies in his stomach, although there was no denying he could still feel the nervous tingle of anticipation sparking through him with every step as he walked closer to the building. To be honest he had no idea what to expect, he hadn't spoken to Sherlock, he had no way of contacting him and besides, what on an earth would he say?

‘How are you?’

_No, too creepy._

‘Are you sure private tutoring is a good idea?’

_No. Far too timid._

'When would you like to meet up?’

_Far too suggestive._

‘I was inappropriately aroused when you touched my hand, fuck me?’

_Definitely not._

John didn’t mean to freeze, dead still, fist clenched around the door handle, but somehow it was instinct. Like a rabbit caught in headlights he stopped outside the classroom door, because suddenly he realised he could hear loud talking and shouting coming from the boys inside.

Holding his breath he tilted his cheek, angling his head more directly to the door. He had no intention of eavesdropping, but there was just something in the tone of the boys voices that made him stop and listen.

"He's not." Sherlock quipped, his loud low voice sounding defensive.

"He is, he's a complete pushover. Can't control us at all." The jeering voice of another student replied, his laughter ringing out across the classroom.

John swallowed, he was slightly embarrassed to admit he didn't recognise the voice at all.

"Well he _would_ be able to if you and your 'friends' paid attention-" Sherlock hit back, his words quick and harsh.

“And why the _hell_  would we do that?” The boy's voice was strikingly and full of malice this time. More than a match for Sherlock’s quick tongue.

A general murmur of agreement arose from what John imagined to be the surrounding students.

"Don't you _see_.” Sherlock continued, tumbling over his words. “This stuff could be importan-”

John’s grip subconsciously tightened on the handle. He needed to intervene. But his body was frozen, stuck in a trance and he just couldn't stop listening.

"Important?” The boy laughed, a loud haunting sound. ”Its basic first aid, all you need to do is call a bloody ambulance mate." This time a full ripple of laughter emerged from all the students, although John would bet his life that Sherlock wasn't smiling. When he spoke his voice sounded as if it was coming through gritted teeth.

"Clearly-" He tried again, but he was already beginning to sound defeated.

"Stop.” The boy cut him off, raising his voice. There was the scape of a chair and a hushed silence fell over the room. John could hear footsteps advancing over towards the door, towards where Sherlock usually sat. "Look, is this some sort of joke?” The boy's said, his voice softer this time but sour, dangerous.

John could almost hear Sherlock's shaky exhale of breath.

“No...I - hey!”

John heard the whoosh of paper and then another laugh.

"Jesus _christ_ look at him, he's actually made notes."

There was the tearing of paper, laughter and a mutter of the word “freak” broke loose in the midst of the noise. John felt himself draw in a sharp intake of breath as thunderous anger finally set in like an electric shock, breaking him from his ludicrous trance. His fist clenched by his side and the other tightened around the door handle so hard that his knuckles were starting to turn white. _That_ was it. He was bursting in right now. But-

"Hang on. Why are you so defensive of him anyway?”

"Yeah.” Another student joined in, “What's it to you?”

Sherlock's voice had gone quiet, timid even. "Nothing, I just-"

 _Nope._ John wasn't letting this happen. This conversation. He didn't want to hear it - or think about it. He’d asked himself that same question many times and come to the conclusion that he did _not_  want to think about the answer.

He shot into action, busting through the door and shoving it open so hard that it slammed round and hit the hinging wall with a bang.

The noise and surprise of the door flying open stopped everything and everyone dead in their tracks. The first thing John’s eyes fell on was a very alarmed Sherlock, draped across his desk, arms outstretched, reaching for his papers. The boy who’d clearly been doing all the talking was stood in front of the desk, holding them high above him.

John stood dead straight, his body tense and rigid, apart from his head which was cocked slightly to the right, mainly from the shock of the utterly bizarre scene he was witnessing. He tilted his chin upwards, fists still clenched, and set his coldest eyes sternly on the boy with Sherlock's papers.

“That's enough. Give them back.” He intended his voice to be low and stern, showing he was not to be messed with.

The atmosphere paused, tense, as the boy held John’s gaze briefly, his look of a similar manner, as if he was testing John.

John twitched nervously, he had no plan of action if the boy didn't back down. He coughed and stepped forward, trying to stare the boy down.

No one moved. No one breathed.

The other boys were stood in a rough semi-circle around John and Sherlock, and in this ridiculous situation John suddenly felt awfully outnumbered.

There was a cough, and then to his utter relief the boy chuckled awkwardly, glancing at his classmates in dismissal before tossing the papers roughly in Sherlock's direction and flopping carelessly back into his chair, swinging on it slightly.

The tension released. It wasn't the perfect reaction, but it would do.

John smiled, glancing at Sherlock in reassurance, but Sherlock looked away quickly, darting to the floor to pick up the rest of his things and rushing to straighten himself out. John felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He should have defended him better or intervened sooner. He tore his gaze away from Sherlock. Too late now. This was going to be a long lesson…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know if you can tell but this chapter has been cut short as I've changed my mind about the future plot of this fic, but I think it's for the best, and hopefully you will too when you read the rest of what I've got planned. Sorry if this chapter wasn't much fun! I'll be making up for it with the next one I promise, and it's all going to be heating up very soon...


	5. The heat is rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pulls Sherlock behind to check that he's okay. However, that's not all that happens..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So, I'm really interested to see what you think about this chapter, to be honest, I'm super proud of it. I hope you enjoy!

“Sherlock?”

The younger man didn't seem to hear, for he finished gathering his things and slung his satchel over his shoulder, hiding his eyes underneath his fringe and moving quite quickly towards the door.

“Sherlock?” John called again, this time moving through the commotion of the other students who were packing up so that he could reach out and pull lightly on the younger man’s shoulder.

Sherlock froze, not turning around, his body tense and rigid under John's tender hands.

“Wait behind for a minute will you?” John asked in a soft voice.

Sherlock let out a small sigh, relieved that it was only John touching him and soothed by the amiable resonance of the older man’s voice.

John smiled, feeling Sherlock physically relax underneath his fingertips. He dropped his hand quickly.

Sherlock turned, moving out of the way of the door to let the other students past. A couple of them threw questioning glances in their direction but John simply ignored them, instead leaning back onto one of the desks as he took a deep breath and tried to decipher Sherlock's murky facial expression.

The boy wasn’t making it easy though, as although his body was facing John he still had his cheek turned to the side, hiding behind his hair and avoiding John's eyes. John frowned, noting that Sherlock looked disconcerted and ever so slightly flustered. He closed his eyes briefly as another wave of remorse crushed over him. He should've intervened sooner.

A blanket of silence fell over them as the last student left the room and they were finally alone together once again.

John waited for Sherlock to speak first but to his surprise the younger man remained silent, only fiddling with the rim of his jacket.

“Are you ok?” John finally asked, his voice soft, no more than a whisper.

“I'm fine.” Sherlock replied cooly, his facial expression indifferent, and his eyes still firmly fixed on either the floor or the wall opposite.

“Sure?” John asked carefully, wishing Sherlock would stop hiding and look at him.

“Yes.” Sherlock muttered.

There was a pause as John decided how best to word his next sentence.

“Look, Sherlock...what happened earlier, if it’s...you know, happening regularly then you need to-”

“Don't be absurd.” Sherlock snapped, cutting John off and finally looking him sharply in the eyes. “I’m not being bullied or anything, if that’s what you think.”

“Oh.” John said, slightly taken back by the tone of Sherlock’s voice, and suddenly finding he didn't know what to say.

“Although…” The slightest smirk appeared at the corner of Sherlock’s lips. “Your intervention was quite welcome.”

John sighed quietly, a quick flash of relief crossing his face. Perhaps Sherlock wasn’t actually annoyed.

“Took you long enough too.” Sherlock added, quirking an eyebrow in John’s direction.

It took a moment for what Sherlock was saying to actually sink in.

“How, an earth-“ John began, his mouth falling open ever so slightly.

“I noticed the faint outline of your shadow under the door when you approached, I could tell it was you.”

“Oh.” John breathed, trying to stop his face from showing his utter amazement at Sherlock’s ridiculous observation and deduction skills. He’d told John about them once before but it was only now that John found himself starting to believe it. He composed himself before dropping eye contact and looking at the floor. “Sorry.” He whispered, guilt overtaking him once again, for this meant Sherlock must have known he was there the whole time, listening.

“What for?” Sherlock asked in a low voice, still looking John directly in the eyes.

“For not…” John frowned, finding it hard to choose the right words. He coughed. “Coming in sooner- and uh- it doesn’t matter.”

Sherlock smiled faintly, seeming to understand John’s unspoken explanation. He took a breath, before clasping his hands together in front of him and tilting his head up ever so slightly, his usual confidence rebuilding itself with every passing minute. “I suppose…I should say thank you.” He said loudly, smiling at John pleasantly and flicking his hair from his eyes.

“Oh, really it was nothing.” John replied, willing the blush that was already beginning to creep onto his cheeks away.

Sherlock smiled back. “I’m glad you came in when you did.” He added.

Unexpectedly a smile broke out on John’s face and it quickly dissolved into a chuckle.

“What are you laughing at?” Sherlock gasped, his face also brightening with laughter and disbelief.

“The image of you,” John giggled, “draped over your desk like some bloody erotic dancer.”

Sherlock tried to stifle his laugh but it escaped all the same, and soon they were both sniggering, hiding their fond looks behind twinkling eyes.

“I suppose it was quite ridiculous.” Sherlock stated after another chuckle.

“Oh it was.” John agreed, running his hand through his hair. “I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.” He laughed again.

Sherlock grinned before chuckling again and a moment passed before the laughter died away naturally, silence slipping between them once more. They both smiled at each other shyly before looking away.

There was a pause, before Sherlock sighed, the kind of expectant sigh that really said, _what next?_

 John’s grin faded slightly. He glanced around the now darkened classroom rather shadily. The sun had now almost completely set and as their class was last period, students and teachers alike would now be setting off home. The university was now almost completely quiet, and there was no denying this kind of behaviour, just a teacher and a student alone in a darkened classroom for no good reason, was suspicious.  

“Perhaps it would be better if you, I mean, if you left now…I just wanted to check that you were ok.” John offered up a pleasant smile and tried not to sound too awkward.

Sherlock’s reaction however, was not what he was expecting.

The younger man kicked off from the desk he was sat on and moved swiftly towards John, sliding out of the strap of his satchel and letting it drop on the floor beside him. He stopped when he was about a foot away, biting his lip before leaning forward ever so slightly and looking into John's eyes. “Oh” He breathed quietly, “That’s a shame. I thought you called me back so you could do some private tutoring for me…”

Whether it was deliberate or not John didn’t know but in a split second Sherlock’s voice had dropped several octaves and adopted the most profoundly flirtatious tone.

John blushed, his breath quickening as Sherlock moved closer to him. It still astounded him just how attracted he found himself to the young man. He was bisexual, that much had been established, but women had always been more his forte. So it was still a shock to him that the slightest mischievous smirk or the slow lick of lips from another man made his head spin in the way it did now. Honestly, he barely knew the person in front of him, but by _god_ did he want to. It was wrong, it was all so wrong and a decent person would probably stop things now before they went too far, but John had never claimed to be a good man, and he _wanted_ this now, if he wasn’t mistaken Sherlock did too.

“What did you have in mind?” John murmured, his voice also dropping in pitch and his eyes flickering down to Sherlock’s lips which were now alarmingly close to his own.

“Well…” Sherlock daringly reached out and placed the light touch of his palm on John’s shoulder. “I’ve got some research notes I was hoping you could take a look at…”

John licked his lips, unsure if this was some kind of dirty innuendo or if Sherlock genuinely did have notes he wanted help with. “I’m…happy to do that. In fact it would be my pleasure.” He whispered in a slow, low voice. Amazed at his sudden ability to stay calm and talk so smoothly. This wasn’t a normal occurrence. There was something here…some kind of electricity, some kind of chemistry between them that set a spark of tenacity alight inside of him. He looked back up to Sherlock’s eyes. His pupils were dark and blown back wide, and John imagined his were the same.

“Good.” Sherlock purred, reducing the touch of his hand so now it was just his fingertips. He let them trail along the stitches of John’s shirt, following them down his arm.

The sensitivity of such a small touch gave John goosebumps and he shivered slightly, trying to steady his breathing.

There was a pause, another, _what next?_ moment. Right now this could go two ways and John wasn’t entirely sure which path he really wanted.

Suddenly, it seemed Sherlock decided for him. He sighed quickly, withdrawing himself and stepping back, dropping his hand from John's shoulder.

John groaned internally although he was careful to conceal any sign of disappointment from his face, there was no denying that he found himself instantly missing Sherlock's proximity and the touch on his arm.

“Sorry.” Sherlock whispered, looking lost and then faintly concerned, as if he’d previously been in a daze and he’d only just remembered himself.

“No” John began adamantly, “It’s fine, I don’t-” He stopped himself when he realised Sherlock was no longer listening. Instead he’d dropped down to his bag, fiddling frantically to undo the strap.

John continued to stand, leaning back on the desk once more and watching in amusement as Sherlock finally opened his bag and sifted hurriedly through its contents, searching until his hands clasped around a large blue folder. He pulled it out and rose back up, setting it down on the desk between them.

“Wow” John whistled as Sherlock undid the binders that trapped hundreds of pages of work in place. As Sherlock quickly skimmed through it to get to the right section, John’s mouth fell open as his eyes flickered over pages and pages of scrawled writing, decorated with what looked like occasional equations and experiment diagrams.

Sherlock ignored John's comment and continued flicking until he stopped on a title page.

“The science of deduction.” John stated, reading the title aloud.

Sherlock nodded, still bent over the page, running his finger down the contents list until he apparently reached the subsection he wanted.

“Sounds interesting…” John continued, meaning every word. “Is this all your own work?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said solemnly, his eyes still fixed on the paper.

“It looks very impressive.”

Sherlock stopped scanning this time and looked up at John, his eyes filled with genuine surprise.

“You think so?” He asked softly.

“Yeah.” John breathed.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” Sherlock said quietly.

John gave a shy smile, “Well... It does…-look let's... ”

He pulled up a chair and sat down, reaching out to drag one across for Sherlock too. Each table had a small orange desk light, presumably for taking notes during videos and John flicked it on, causing a small haze of warm orange light to flood their small corner of the room. Sherlock moved the folder into the light before plonking himself down and hunching over it once more, running his fingers quickly through the pages.

“Sorry.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I deleted the page numbers for this section from my mind yesterday, I didn’t think I was going to get to show you, I wasn't expecting you to ask me back.”

“Deleted them?” John asked quizzically.

“Yeah, from my mind, I have to delete things...sometimes...it’s a sort of... ah! Doesn't matter. I've found it now.”  

“Oh” John said, furrowing his eyebrows as he struggled to keep up with Sherlock’s quick talking and rather audible energetic flipping of pages.

“Here so,” Sherlock smoothed out the slightly crumpled paper and pointed at a large paragraph of messy writing. “In this section I'm comparing the time it takes for bruises to rise on the skin before and after death...amongst other things related to that.”

“Wow” John breathed again, pulling the notes closer and studying the diagrams of cells and chemical compounds Sherlock had drawn. “May I ask why?”

“Why?” Sherlock repeated.

He looked confused and John wondered if perhaps that had been a stupid question, but then Sherlock’s face cleared and he looked back down to his work. “It's a small part of a big project, I just wondered if you could go over several sections, seeing as you're the medical expert.”

John glanced at the stack of papers in front of him.

“How many sections exactly?”

“A few.”

* * *

Five minutes had slipped into ten, then ten into fifteen, and soon Sherlock’s work was sprawled out all over the desk in front of them. With the pair both leaning over it, sat side to side their shoulders and thighs almost touching, crossing over one another and leaning on each other casually when they pointed something out or made a correction. All of this obviously, John didn't have any complaints about. Although it wasn't just that, in all seriousness he didn't mind about the time anymore, he didn't even mind about the risk of being caught. Sat here, right now, giggling, studying and discussing medical science with Sherlock was the most fun he’d had in ages. Amazingly he found that he wasn't even that far out of his depth. He was actually able to understand a great deal of Sherlock's work (with occasional explanations) and even help correct it, so far he’d managed to point out several marginal errors and Sherlock seemed both surprised and very grateful, making a comment that “another eye, a second opinion” was very useful to him.

“This bit, here” John pointed to a diagram and a page describing the correct procedure on treating open wounds at a crime scene, “Is brilliant, absolutely incredible. It just makes so much sense.” John shook his head lightly in disbelief, before looking up at Sherlock and staring fondly into his eyes.

“You’re a genius.” He breathed.

Sherlock looked away, and John wondered if perhaps he was hiding a small blush.

“You are you know.” John said again.

Sherlock said nothing so without thinking John reached over and placed his palm over Sherlock’s hand on the desk, rubbing the side of it softly with his thumb. And it just felt so natural, so right, that John forgot to be afraid of what he was doing, he forgot to worry about what the consequences may be.

Sherlock looked down at their hands, biting his lip and holding his breath. Slowly he turned his palm on the desk until it was facing upwards and their palms slotted together properly.

And then it hit him, what they were doing, and John’s heart almost stopped. They were holding hands properly now and time seemed to slow as Sherlock brought his eyes back up and they just stared at each other, mouths partly open and pupils dilated. John took a moment to admire the phenomenal person in front of him. Sherlock looked absolutely gorgeous, his dark curls tumbling over his ears and forehead, his eyes dark and his cheekbones softly radiating the orange glow from the desk light. He looked young, inexperienced and ever so expectant. _Oh god_. John tried to snap himself out of it but he just couldn’t, he was drawn to Sherlock in a way he’d never been drawn to anybody. Without thinking he started moving forward.

Sherlock's grip tightened on his hand. He let out a tiny gasp before slanting his eyes and beginning to lean in also.

It was all happening so fast, and John wasn’t thinking, wasn’t focusing, instead he just let his eyes fall shut as he moved in the rest of the way to meet Sherlock’s small rosy lips softly with his own.

Except they didn’t.

They were centimeters away, maybe less, noses next to each other, eyes closed, _so_ _close_ when-

Footsteps. The clamorous clicking of stilettos, echoed down the corridor. Breaking the silence, destroying the moment and shattering it apart. John’s stomach instantly flooded with a wave of dread. He pulled back quickly and opened his eyes. Sherlock had frozen, eyes wide, staring at him like a terrified rabbit caught in headlights.

“Shit”. John swore under his breath before reaching out to try and collect some of Sherlock’s papers.

“No, don’t” Sherlock whispered, reaching out and stilling John’s hand. “Just stay quiet.” He reached over to the corner of the desk and flicked the light off quickly.

They sat there in the dark, holding their breath as the clicking got closer and closer, until it was just outside the door.

“Oh god.” John whispered.

Sherlock kicked him under the table, punishing him for speaking but John hardly noticed, he was stuck in his own head.

 _This is it._ He thought. _I am going to lose my job and any chance I had at a future career in the army. Any...second...now..._

Except that he didn’t, of _course_ he didn’t. The footsteps just kept going, the heels clicking down along the corridor and past the classroom, until they disappeared from earshot all together. The person, whoever it was, had no reason to stop, no reason to come in. They were safe.

It was a moment before either of them moved. A pause of mutual relief. Sherlock moved slowly to turn the light back on.

“That was close” He breathed, offering John a shaky smile.

John just stared at him blankly, not yet recovered from the shear panic he’d just experienced.

“John?” Sherlock asked, his voice filled with unmasked concern.

John didn’t even blink. _Sherlock was right. This was all too close._

He stood up quickly, shaking as he rose from his chair. “I- Sherlock, I have to- this…” He made a vague gesture to the two of them. “It’s not right.. It just isn't, I ha- I have to go now.”

“No” Sherlock protested, standing up also. “Wait, John-”

But it was too late, John had already gathered his things and was moving away from him.

“John!” Sherlock said, raising his voice a little, he wanted to try and go after him but his stuff was still everywhere and he couldn't leave it.

John ignored him and continued moving towards the door.

“Please wait” Sherlock tried again, his voice desperate.

John turned back, his face struck with panic and his hand clutched around the door handle.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So firstly thank you so much reading. Sorry this chapter is quite a lot longer than the others, I just got on a roll and couldn't stop. I really hope you enjoyed it. Please comment your feedback, I love hearing from you.


End file.
